Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Lost Compass
by Brian T. Wolf
Summary: A vast thriller that casts us back fourteen years before the film series. Evocative locales! Pirate scumbags! And the introduction of that legendary compass! Journey with Sao Feng and Jack Sparrow, along with a pair of twins on this high seas adventure!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Sao Feng crossed his arms and looked at the skin of the plum presented before him. Glistening, royal deep purple in shade and delicately plump, the fruit was gardened from behind the walls of the Golden City, a royal present by anyone's standards. A cowering messenger boy kneeled before the great Pirate, cupping the perfect fruit in his hands. The Emperor never met at open sea before, his golden masts heralded the worlds greatest and oldest Marine fleet. Simply known as Emperor, or Qing, to the civilizations of the West, he was a shrouded figure, covered in shadows and more protected than any one man on the Planet. Few men worried Sao Feng, but he could not deny his respect and fear of the greatest dynasty of the greatest nation the world had ever known.

"And how do I know this is not some Imperial trap?" Sao fang said low, nearly whispering to the boy.

"As a symbol of the Emperor's honesty, I will let you drive a blade into my belly. If I am lying, I will surely say so."

Sao Feng twisted the strands of his long beard and took the fruit from the boy's hands. "You are an interesting child. Such an example of the blind obedience the Emperor requires of his subjects. Stand beside me."

The boy stood slowly, never leveling his eyes to the impressive man, never daring to turn his gaze upwards. Sao Feng continued, full of both charm and venom, each word falling off the next.

"What do you know of freedom, boy? Have you ever once tasted a plum, such as the one you have brought me today? I dare say you haven't. I dare say you come from a family that will struggle for five hundred years to forget how they sold themselves into slavery for not more than a sack full of rice." Feng smiled and took a bite, savoring the juice that ran down his chin. "I know freedom. I know the freedoms of open air and wide horizons. I was the son of a simple fisherman. From desperate poverty, I emerged, and took to the seas to gain my fortune."

Feng put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Through dedication, in my lifetime, I have broken the shackles of poverty and built an empire all my own. Do you believe this was simple coincidence, or perhaps fate that ran its course? There is no Emperor lest we say there is. And I, for one, never voted this man to his position."

"You slander your lord and master." The boy said nervously, his voice shaking.

"I do. And I will again and again, because that is who I am. I am the defiant face to the despot. I am the freedom of all that would stand against him, or would find their own ways in the world. And you tell me, that you would give your life at his bidding. At his whim. Who is he to gamble you in such a way?"

Sao Feng put the plum in the boy's hand. "Would you take a bite of this fruit?"

"It is not my place to eat such a fine thing as that." His face was twisted in a precious mix of dread and confusion.

"Do me this request. If you are the vanguard of our beloved emperor, you will take a bite, and don't worry, I won't tell. I will allow you this freedom. It may be the only one you ever enjoy."

Sao Feng managed a smile, though he was sure it came more menacing to the child than he intended. Feng had never been able to articulate human warmth, unless it was for a member of his own crew. But the boy took the fruit into his hand and looked at it, glancing about him to see if anyone else was watching them. But, they were alone. They were in the belly of The Empress, Sao Feng's flagship, a great, strong vessel of immense fortitude. All about them were objects of Sao Fengs riches, his collected pillaging and murdering and sacking was displayed in piles and the boy was sure it was only a small portion of what he had amassed. Feng was well-known, widely feared, and quietly respected. He did not only live what he so proudly spoke, he was beginning to make a lot of sense to a lot of frustrated people. People that for so long lived in repressive fear of a series of dynasties that despite their incredible scientific and cultural advancements had never achieved the ethical responsibilities of the British or the democracy of the Greeks.

"Go ahead. I know it calls to you." Sao Fang beamed as the boy took the fruit in, silently chewing. He felt good that the boy trusted him, that through the power of his own words he could change even the most hard-hearted of Imperial stooges.

The boy seemed shocked when Sao Feng ran him through with his thin dagger. His eyes rolled up to Sao Feng and locked his gaze. Feng was emotionless, looking down at the dying child. "You were a good subject, and I do believe the Emperor is waiting for me. You have done your job well today, and your soul will fly unfettered."

Feng ended it quickly, and picked the boy up, taking him in his powerful arms. He walked through the galley and handed the child to a subordinate.

"What will you do?" Tai Huang, Feng's trusted bodyguard and confidant asked.

"I will meet with the Emperor. Tell him I grant his request. We will meet on the water."

Huang rowed Feng out into the middle of the sea, where the largest contingents of row boats the Pirate lord had ever seen circled about them. A larger dingy near the center of the group had a tent about it, surely this was the temporary house of the Emperor. Imperial Guards stood uneasily in the boats, prompting Feng to chuckle. No matter how skilled the men were as killers, without their sea legs, he would always have the advantage. Feng handed his sword to a guard and stepped into the tent, moving from boat to boat as easily as one would more from one step to another.

The Emperor was anything but a powerful looking individual. With a shaved head and a thinly built stature, he could have been easily mistaken for a librarian. In a crowd, no one would pick him out as an emperor.

"Captain Sao Feng." The Emperor looked as if he was expecting the Pirate to bow.

"You wanted to see me."

"I did. I tell you, it is refreshing to be in a room with a man that will not stay lower than me. To be looked at in my eyes, is something I am not used to. My father would have had you gutted on the spot. I am not my father."

"I knew your father." Sao Feng smiled. "And if he were to have me gutted today, my ship would have fired its cannons with dead accuracy on this spot. And you would still be Emperor."

"I suppose that is true. And I understand your threat. But I do not want you to feel threatened. I have always been on your side. I have allowed you to have free run of Singapore. This is no small thing. If today I wanted it so, I could descend upon your fleet and turn it to splinters. We have the guns. We have the ships. But you and your fellows have become something of an interest to me. It has to do with Capitalism."

"Capitalism?"

"It is a new movement. Where one aims to make money on claims to future fortunes. A great addition to economics by the western minds, and the key to our nation's future. We have, for some time, been in the Opium trade. You have been a great cog in that machine, helping to move the drugs from one coast to another. And, whether you will like to admit it, you have been adding to the future fortunes of your people and this Empire."

"I fail to see what you mean."

"Well, Opium is a terribly addictive substance as you well know. Right now, we have people in all of Europe and in the West Indies that are actively spreading Opium to places where there was no demand. Soon, we will be the world's largest exporter in Opium, and with shipping lanes open, soon we will control all markets. Beijing will be the economic center of the new world."

"How very progressive of you." Sao Feng said, noticing the pleased look on the Emperors face. "If I may be so bold to ask, what part do you expect me to play?"

"You will keep doing what you are doing, but added to that, you will also steal the cargos of the Indian Opium traders. They are threatening to destroy our future gains and it cannot happen. I have in my possession the shipping routes of the Indian runners and you will intercept their largest cache and, if you can, cripple them."

"What is in it for me?" Sao Feng drove right to the point.

"More money than you can dream of. And, beyond that, that which you want most."

"How do you mean?"

"When you do this for me, I will let you know what I mean. But, for now." The Emperor held the tent flap open. "For now you will receive a generous bounty and my word that there will be freedom for you as long as I live."

Sao Feng stepped into the boat with his bodyguard, certain that the Emperor was something of a different breed than his father. He was loathe to say it, but this bald man was more like himself, a dreamer, looking for the next challenge to conquer.

More than ever, he knew to be cautious of the Empire. Using Opium to control the world was ludicrous, but if the pay was right, he would be all for it. He may have principals, but gold was more important than ideals, otherwise, what did it mean to Pirate?

Ahead of him was his ship, giant and serene in the still waters near Singapore. He was proud of the Empress, a sturdy craft that proved herself again and again in the trials of combat. His next stage, going after the Indian Opium Runners was something he would have to savor. Feng retired to his cabin, disrobing and sitting before a plate of incense, steaming his nostrils with good smells and he was ready to meditate, to get some of the answers he needed, silence to get his head in the right place to do what must be done.

Silence, until a ridiculous belch erupted from the corner of his quarters. Feng gnashed his teeth and turned about to find his passenger, the English addition to his crew out of Singapore, the loathsome Jack Sparrow, chugging on a bit of rum in one hand and finishing a half-eaten plum in the other.

"So, Captain. Where are we headed now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sara was the first to jump in the boat as the boys trudged it off the beach. She sat aft and ran her fingers through the cold blue, letting the droplets dance off her fingertips in the morning light. Sara was happy, for the moment, watching her twin brother do that which he loved most, and to spend the time with him, in his most true company.

"James, watch the rudder, the rip tide can be tricky here."

"And what is your plan exactly, Simon?"

"You will address him as Captain Harwell or you will not address him at all." James said, sneering as he pushed the long handle of the rudder away from him, turning the boat away from the shore. "Bad luck to have a woman aboard anyway."

"If we're such bad luck why do you men insist on naming your boats after us?"

"That's an entirely different situation," James stammered, "The best war vessels are not named after women. Just the skiffs and fisher boats."

"And where would the King's navy be without a fresh supply of Tuna?" Sara said, satisfied that her case, though ludicrous as it was, had been made.

Simon laughed and hoisted the sail, deftly catching what breeze was present. "Take us out to the cove. We're on the hunt for treasure."

All four of them, James Sherwood, Roger Hartley, Simon and his twin sister found the next hour pass in splendid conversation. All were wide-eyed in amazement as Simon went on and on about his voyages as a boy aboard the HMS VICEROY, a supply ship out of Liverpool. For years, he crewed the vessel, and though they were never in any direct attack by another ship at any point in his service, he picked up enough stories from passing sailors and military men, that he was well versed enough in the maritime history of England that he could successfully transplant himself in the most dire situations. Though they were lies, his audience could have cared less, but for the eagerness he told his stories, magnificently painting the valorous life of a seafarer.

Simon was fifteen years old and a great deal taller than the boys of his age. He was hardened and tanned and had seen much more of the world than they would ever expect to see. While they referred to him as Captain, the men aboard the Viceroy named him Ensign Harwell, and he would soon work his way to Captain in short order. It was a goal he had been striving to achieve ever since his childhood and he always believed in the true beauty of the Royal Fleet, the one unstoppable force in the world. He was away at the moment, a temporary leave that would last several months before appearing at Port Royal for his next commission, this time aboard a battleship. He was greatly looking forward to the opportunity, since he had yet to be part of a sea battle and greatly wanted a scar of his own to compare rather than the silly kitchen scratches he told the boys was musket fire.

"And how terrible the wind was. As if Calypso herself was ravaging the boat, waves as high as the tower of London crashing down with enough force to tear her hull apart. And the rain never came in naturally, always did it ricochet from every slick surface, droplets the size of roasts knocking men off their feet. If it wasn't for the boys of the service, tying the knots, we would have lost many men in the torrent." He was in the middle of a particularly true tale when Roger Hartley, on point with his spyglass at the ready caught sight of their destination. "Before you knew it, the ship was rocking so much, it could have swung itself underneath and we all would have been lost. Were it not for the clever navigation of our Captain."

"Captain." Roger yelped, standing excitedly at his post. "We've come upon it."

"Good news." Simon said, slapping him on the back. "We make port at those rocks. We don't want the old bastard to catch sight of us and have him fire that cannon again."

"You are not." Sara said in disbelief.

"I am not what?"

"You are not going to see that old curmudgeon again. Father warned you about him." Sara furrowed her brow.

"Of course I remember what father said, but I see him every time I make port and why should this be any different? I do hope he remembers who we are. He does keep a spare flintlock and I swear one day, that lead will have my name on it." Simon smiled through his teeth and Sara wondered whether her brother had gone completely around the bend. She imagined a scenario on the Viceroy, which painted a scene of him dipping into the rum, and perhaps when one drinks rum as a child, it changes his personality forever. But, he had always been a bit mad, and disobedient as a son. Sara could not imagine that sort of behavior would fit in the Royal Navy.

The curmudgeons name was Leon. He was part French and part English at a time when that was a conflict in and of itself, and he had the terrible luck of being adopted by a Portuguese sailor, taking to the seas before many people could walk. His lifeline was something of a legend, many people claiming he was a pirate, one of the first of the kind, to own his very own ship, the Valor, a stolen and refitted vessel. Though none of the legends were substantiated it was said that he hid his wealth of treasures in the islands around the Cape, and that in the dead of night he would steal from his treasures. Many young boys would take to following him around, but he was always more clever than them, and because of his old age and the lack of proof any judge would have of his past exploits, he was allowed to live alone on the north end of the Cape. He received shipments of food and drink and lived much like a man who was destitute on an island, in a shack, that despite its outward appearance, was home to a long cannon, though no one was certain where he procured the fancy bit of artillery.

James tied the boat around a particularly sharp and thin piece of boulder and the four of them stole away, Sara more cautious than the rest, hiking her skirt halfway past her ankles to avoid the cragged shells that lined the old man's beach. Simon confidently strode across the sand, keeping one hand on the knife in his belt, certain that the old man was growing more and more senile and that one day he would surely lash out at anyone that approached, but he pressed on nonetheless, arrogant as ever.

"He really will kill you one day. They say he eats children." Sara spat with vigor from the back of the line.

"That was why we brought you." Simon said smoothly and they turned the corner leading to the door of the shack. One step further and the ground beneath the group quaked as a loud explosion filled the air and Simon dove for his compatriots, knocking them to the sand as a cannonball roared over their heads and made a terrific splash in the shallow waters, kicking water high in the air so that when it fell it was like rain.

"Who goes there?"

"I figured you would fire that thing anyway!" Simon shouted back. "Couldn't resist seeing if it still worked, could you?"

Leon opened the door and stepped out. His staple moustache was long and scraggly where once it had been perfectly manicured and shaped to point upwards like Devil horns. His eyes were squinting through the sun and he was shirtless, deeply tanned but for a tattoo on his chest of a crane in flight. He carried in his right hand the very Flintlock pistol Simon feared and held it out to the four of them, not looking for a moment that he knew who they were.

"Not many come around my door. They all know to stay away. I am the most dangerous person on this island and you might as well turn tail and leave. I have no treasure to part with." He said, his Portugese accent was lightly flavored in the English dialect.

"Leon, you old git. It's me, Simon Harwell and this is my dear sister, whom almost parted with her dear head no thanks to you."

"Simon?" The old man was struggling with his vapid memory, scrunching his brows together before he finally came up with it. "Little Simon, the boy from the plantation on the other side of the island? Why you were not much more than a belts height on me and now look at you. Nearly at my chin you are."\

"Yes, you crazy fool. I have grown in the four years since I've come around."

"And why have you brought these children with you?"

"I was afraid that left to your own devices, you would have surely gone astray. And you have, taking pot shots at us. You should be ashamed."

"Yes. But, sadly, I am not. But I do see your point. Were you a band of thieves I would have been in the right. And if my aim had not been so poor I would have split apart the lot of you." He laughed in a bully way and opened his door. "Well, make yourselves comfortable, I am sure you have come for a reason, boy."

They all gathered in his shack, which was terribly unclean and made themselves home on the littered chairs and tables. Leon hang his flintlock in its place beside the mantle and gave Simon a hearty shake. "It is good to see you, boy. Tell me, what news have you brought?"

"Not much to say. We are continuing our quest to tame the oceans of the world. England has her dominance and so far, no one has been able to usurp our power. But, none of that matters. Leon. On the journey I did come across an old sailor, possibly as old as you who did talk at length about a great many things."

"Yes. We do tend to do that, when the audience is captive."

"Believe me, I was. I had always suspected certain things from you. Many think you were a pirate, but that was not at all true? You rode the seas surely, but you might be called an adventurer, wouldn't you?"

"An adventurer. Surely you could call it that."

"A conquistador."

"Yes. At one time, I was something like that." Leon turned his gaze away and poured himself a stiff drink from a dusty bottle.

"Funny that you would relocated to the ends of the Earth, but you would not bother to change your name. This man I spoke to, he was Portugese as well, spoke in a very broken English, and where the other sailors would not have the patience to listen to him, I took great care in my explanations and listened with greater intensity than I had ever imagined, especially when it concerned you." Simon smiled and Sara began to feel something turn inside of her, what was he up to? Why had they bothered coming all the way out to see the hermit, he was better left alone, to his own devices.

"You come here and seek answers, but I am not sure these are answers you want to know just yet."

"When I first met you, you took me in and taught me many things about the sea. You were the very reason I wanted to become a sailor, to become a great warrior like all those men you read about in the histories and in the epics." Simon put his hand over the old man's. "You were preparing me for something and do not deny it."

"I do not." He said mistily.

"This man I spoke to explained that the great Portugese adventurer had come across a tale. A tale about three Mariner Artifacts. Three relics both ancient and new, all that once brought aboard a ship, would give her powers to conquer and sea. With these talismans of luck, any boat could survive drought, tempest and battle. Not to mention, the ability to find your way to any destination on the planet. It was said that Leon and his ship, The Guindaste, searched for these artifacts. And that they claimed two of the three in their perilous quest. Two of the three. The Portugese crown wanted all three, that they would reclaim the waters for Portugal. Have you heard this tale?"

"Yes."

"And you are this Leon, are you not?"

Leon said nothing and took another sip of his drink.

"You are! I know it. The Guindaste, the very ship that the Leon of the legend is named after the Portugese word for Crane. The very symbol you so proudly tattooed onto your chest. I am not a liar, I know this to be truth more than anything I know in my body. You are this man and you found these artifacts. And you have been guarding these things here in your home for the lifetime you have spent on this miserable island."

"Simon!" Sara shouted, unable to soothe her brother from his tirade.

"A man on an island has no need of a long nine. You are not protecting a treasure and you do not care about unwelcome guests, you are protecting the artifacts you have acquired. You have been grooming me all these years to take over for you in protecting them. But why, Leon, why hide them away? With this, you can have all that you want?"

"For that very reason boy. For that very reason I would lay my life down so that no one can take them from me. I would more gladly destroy them than let the hands of greed descend upon them and this world. You have come and you have insulted me, your trusted friend. I can not bear the look of you. Perhaps you are right that one day I would have given you these to protect, but that is not going to happen now." Tears streamed down his face as he took up the flintlock pistol. "Go boy and take your mates with you. I never want to see any of you here again."

James and Roger were the first to run out the door. Sara went with them, towing Simon along by his hand. His head was down and his teeth were clenched tightly. "Come on, Simon."

They piled into the boat and pushed off, Simon looked over at the shack. Sara put her hand on her brother's face. "I'm not entirely sure what went on in that place, but I can tell it affected you."

"You need not worry about me sister. Because tonight I am coming back."

James and Roger looked at each other quizzically, and Sara said in the most earnest voice. "Why would you do a foolish thing like that?"

"To steal his most prized possession." Simon smiled with manic sincerity. "Why else would I?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sara, Simon and their Father, the Doctor Harwell sat around the supper table, each chewing their food in silence. Any time their father would broach a new subject with his children, they would affably answer the question, but just as quickly, they would turn off, choosing to continue staring at their plates, passively forgetting that he had not seen his son in four years.

"Perhaps we should find a subject the two of you would rather take part in?" Doctor Harwell said, swirling the water in his goblet. "Because as I am no great speaker, I do not like the sound of my own voice scratching for tidbits from you. Simon. Is there something amiss?"

"Nothing father. I just find myself ruminating on the sea."

"I fear all you great mariners are like that. I was sick the whole trip from our home in England, spent most of the time lurched overboard, made my time as temporary ship surgeon quite unordinary. But, you are quite different from me, lad, much more like my father the Admiral. I wish he were to have lived to see you here now. The stories he would tell. I am sure you have a few of your own. New ones that I did not glean from your letters?"

Simon carved into his potato with his fork and answered numbly. "I have a few. But, I do not wish to share them now, that is, when I speak of my experiences, father, I want them to be true."

"How do you mean?"

"Victory in battle and a medal to prove it." Simon looked deep into his father's hazel eyes. The older man was paunchy, but youthful, in spite of the gray in his whiskers. They were not alike, Doctor Harwell was more apt to read books about adventures than to seek them out. Transplanting his young family in the Caribbean was the riskiest venture he had ever undertaken and the result made him quite rich, though the reason for their departure was more for their mother, who had become sick in England. Taking her to the Americas was a way to make her better, hoping the tropical climate would cure her of her ails. For several years it seemed to work, she was better, but in the end, her illness overcame her and the children were left motherless.

That was when Simon was pressed into the service, much against his father's wishes. But, it was his choice, the grandson of a previous Admiral could take his pick in the fleet, and he chose a supply vessel, if only to spare his father from a further broken heart. He lost a wife already, he could not imagine losing his son at the same time. But eight years had passed since the day he first departed in Port Royal, and he was done easing his father's fears, there were dangers out there for the Royal Navy, and he would be damned if he was to spend his rise to Captain aboard a supply ship, toiling in safe waters. Simon had a plan, and he intended to be the youngest person in the history of the Navy to have charge of his own ship, his own crew, making his own destiny.

"Medals. Valor. My father spent his life searching for such glory. He drowned off the Ivory coast when his ship struck reef. All the medals he won did not save him from such a fate. Why not enjoy your life? Enjoy the graces you have been given? You seem intent on spoiling your youth." Doctor Harwell's voice had the tinge of the morose, the echoes of a widower.

"Not spoiling father. Finding the advantage in it. The only the good about being young is that everyone you meet underestimates you."

"You talk like him, too." Doctor Harwell stood and the children rose in respect. "Finish your supper. I have a bit of reading to do before I go to bed. I hope that tomorrow we can talk of more enlightened things."

As soon as he left the room, Sara spoke up. "You still plan on going back to Leon's shack?"

"Now more than ever. Father does not understand what drives me."

"Nor do I?"

"No. You are just like father. Scribbling away in the study when you should be seeking life outside these walls." Simon took a sip of his drink and brushed past her.

"I'm going to tell father what you are planning?"

"No, you won't sister." Simon bounced back.

"How do you know that?"

"Because you, more than anyone, know what sort of destiny I have. And you, more than anyone, know that I have to achieve it. And when I am dead, you will be the one to scribble my story."

Sara threw her arms up in disgust. "Fine. Go and die."

There would be a time that she would forgive him, that was the way with twins. They had always been more connected than anyone, knowing what the other feels without saying it, reading each others thoughts. Simon, had however been learning to deceive her, behaving brash when he should have been scared, confident when he was shaky, all so that she could perceive him a different way, and stop trying to get in his head. When night rolled in, Simon was sitting at his bay window, overlooking the crashing shore at their palatial home on the beach. Growing up in the Caribbean had its own wonders, its own pitfalls, but Gwendolyn Harwell managed to make the place a home before she died and her handiwork could be found everywhere, from the blankets she knitted to the patterns in the flowers planted in the gardens. All the help loved her as well, and all spoke well of her after her death, running the house exactly as she would have done it, respecting her wishes in every thing that they did.

More than anything, Simon wished his mother was with them now. Had she been, he may not have run off to the Navy at all, but instead stayed locked up with his father and become a doctor instead of a fool. A fool. Simon rolled the word around in his head, picturing the face of Leon, the man that told him what it was to be a lord of the Sea. Simon did not consider the old man a fool, a sad case perhaps, but no idiot. He had a reason for wanting him to take possession of the artifacts, and Simon would be pitifully sorry that he should take a commission, which kept him away four more years without getting what was coming to him. Remembering his lessons from long ago, Simon was always surprised at how much Leon knew, and not just about piloting a craft. Surely, he was better than any textbook on the strategies of gunnery crews and navigation. Through Leon, Simon became a fairly skilled marksman and fencer. He did not believe he had the skills to hold off an army of men with just a cutlass at his side, but he could hold his own against one fighter of similar aptitude.

All the lamplights on the plantation were doused and Simon tucked his knife into his belt, stealing out for his boat once more. He slipped easily into the sea, paddling for lack of wind, taking his time, keeping his body low against the hull. Drifting for a bit, he came upon the cove, making out the shack in the bright moonlight above him. Simon moved further up the coast, knowing as he did that the old man was watching that part of the beach from his cannonball confrontation that morning.

Simon moored the dinghy against rough spider grass on a rocky shore. He climbed the bluff that overlooked the cove, taking fists of grass with him as he ascended the slick mossy surface. With each near misstep on the climb, Simon slowed down, breathing, not becoming impatient before moving on to the next handhold or foothold until he found himself perched atop it. Laying flat on his belly, the boy opened his dented spyglass and looked down, using the illumination to make out the shack. There was light within, tiny flickering lamplight that glowed through Leon's foggy window. His long nine was resting against the open ship porthole, set and possibly armed for any barrage that could come.

Simon knew the old man well, he knew that the children of the island had something right. He did not have a cache of buried treasure on the island, but he did go somewhere at night. It was the only time he ever left his house. Waiting for half an hour or more, the time passing was nothing to the accomplished boy that had spent many months sitting in a high crows nest, focusing in the night for any shape, be it an island or a passing vessel. He trained his eyes to look through the dark for anything, and he trained his mind to suffer through tedium to do what must be done.

After several hours, passing as slowly as they could, there was movement in the shack. The door opened and Leon stepped out, dressed in a coat and hat, carrying a cane as he walked up the beach to a horse he had corralled in a pen. It took the old man more than a minute to calm the nag down, but he won the beast over and together they trotted out of sight, leaving the place completely defenseless.

Simon scaled the rocks and made his way to the cabin, coming around the bend where he had been fired upon once before, and stopped. Feeling something in his gut was wrong. The old man would not leave the place unattended, he would leave something in its stead. If he was so busy protecting the artifact, he would of course have some way to guard it when he was gone. A booby trap. It was a classic technique and something he had not forgotten to teach his favorite student about. In their afternoons together, all manner of strategies were conferred to him, including the delicate art of trapping.

Standing feet from the door, Simon considered what the old man had with him. His long nine was still at the porthole, his door closed tight. He took a few paces away, and looked into the foggy window. There were two windows in all, and one was foggy. The other was clean. One clean, one dirty. Leon had never been a man to keep a tidy home, so Simon knew well that the old man would not clean a window unless it was important to look out of. Being too far from the cannon to be useful in aiming, the only other reason would be for one to look inside. Or perhaps climb inside. He trapped the door, the only way in the house, but had to leave a route with which he could reenter.

Simon took a deep breath and plunged the tip of his knife into the window sill, prying it open. He lifted the glass just enough that he could fit, and cautiously entered the shack. As he had expected, their was a trap at the door, a nasty set of blades would have crashed down upon his head had he tried to enter. Perhaps it was not enough, because there was another trap, barrel of gunpowder ingeniously rigged to detonate if someone had perhaps survived the slicing to take a further step. Beyond the two avoidable traps, the place was clean of them. There were not very many places to hide an artifact, but Simon looked for the tale tell signs of treasure. A chest, if there was one. A hollow in the wood, tested by rapping upon the ground or the wall. When he had exhausted all possibilities, even rummaging through the old man's linens and feeling rotten about doing so, both for the invasion of privacy and the smell of sweat stained sheets, Simon sat on a chair and took a minute to think, clearing his mind as best he could.

He considered an artifact. What would it look like? What would it be? What did the Mariners use? Something a Mariner would use, an artifact of a Mariner. What could they be?

And Simon decided. He would take every small trinket in the place. Simon filled his pouch with all of Leon's small belongings. Emptied the shelves, the bags, of anything one would need on a sea voyage and just as he finished, the sun was coming up over the horizon. There was no time, no time at all to think, he squeezed through the window and ran the length of his shore, to his dinghy, pushing it out into the water with as much strength as he had left in him. Exhausted, Simon furled up his sail and caught the morning updraft, cutting around the cove, looking back to find the old man trotting back around the pass.

He wondered for a moment if Leon saw him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harley's vessel was a tragic looking Indian ship, bought at the bottom dollar by the financial wizards of the Dutch East India Company, who's infinite wisdom split the summers Opium stock into just three shipments out of Mangalore. He was the middle ship, the first one should have already made it around the Cape of Good Hope and should be moving relatively quickly up the African Coast. Always a dangerous mission, evading the Pirates of the shores, often meant making deals with the blackest hearts in the world. A position Harley did not like to be placed in, not a comfortable spot for a form Naval Commander.

Three weeks into their voyage and they were nearing the waters of East Africa. With them, were two other battleships, altogether, they were blessed with over one hundred guns, a completely unknown show of force in that area of the world, but the company was not taking any chances this time. The drug supply had to go to Europe and there they would make their profits. The demand was growing with every passing year, which was sure to reach a fever pitch, perhaps even a war between the interested parties of the Asian rim.

Jayant, his tall Indian helmsman called out from the stern and Harley joined him on the deck. Salt-spray dusted there faces as they came upon a strange sight. A dead ship was capsized in the middle of the sea, pieces of hull and barrels lay spewed. All were gone save one, that was apparently sunning himself on the capsized ship. He was a strange sort of person, with long tendrils of hair and a deeply tanned skin, covered in various tattoos. A sailor of the Caribbean no doubt, for the beads he wore. The MERRIMACK came to stern, and a shadow drifted over him.

Harley gaped as the man stood and shouted angrily, "Would you move that blasted thing?!"

"Surely he is in shock. All his brothers dead. Roasting in this unforgivable sun. Not a drop of drinkable water." The Indian shook his head. "We must throw him a line."

Harley nodded his head and the Indian threw down a rope. "Come, brother. We will give you food and lodging till the next port of call."

The man ably climbed the rope, with surprising strength for a man that by all rights should have been at death's door. Harley took the man's wrists and pulled him onto the deck. Many of the Indians that served the ship looked strangely at him.

"Welcome to the Merrimack. I am this ship's Captain, Wallace Harley. This is my trusted helmsman, Jayant.

"Means 'victorious'." The old Indian said, handing the new arrival a pouch of water.

"Good to know." He half smirked. "I am Jack Sparrow."

"Sparrow." Harley said. "Tell me friend, is that a family name?"

"Let us just say that is was thrust upon me and I have become borne to it."

The Indian leaned in to his Captain. "Does that make any sense?"

Harley shrugged. "What happened here?"

"I was aboard this frigate for three months. We were on our way to present King George a new pair of silk pajamas. But, a rogue wave hit us."

"A rogue wave, you say?"

"Hogwash, Captain. Ain't such a thing."

"No. It is true. My own father lost damn near half a fleet in the North Sea. He always said it was a wave to do it."

"Aye." Jack Sparrow said. "As big or bigger than this ship here. A sturdy craft. Could go all the way to the America's."

"We aren't going quite that far, Mr. Sparrow. You are welcome to stay on until we reach Madagascar."

"Good. I just love pygmies."

"I thought we wasn't stopping until we reached Port Elizabeth." The helmsman muttered.

"We can't very well bring this poor man all that way."

"I don't mind, really." Jack said, smiling, flashing bits of gold in his mouth.

"Are you very sure, sir? You have been through a terrible ordeal and I would not want to cause you further discomfort."

"Then, if I may, do you happen to have any rum?"

The ship was alive with conversation and music that night, the sails trimmed for lack of wind, but still managing along its course steadily. Jack stood looking out over the edge, the Captain's personal bottle of Scotch in his hand, a poor substitution for rum, but a good sailor's companion to settle the nerves. He was laying on the hull of the boat for more than three days, laying there, his water and food on a line towed underneath, giving the appearance of a man trapped by the sea, left for dead. It was a particularly clever idea of Sao Feng's and he had become integral in the following plot.

The Captain had gone overboard in welcoming Jack to the crew, a sure sign that he was long due for an Englishman's companionship. But, Jack was not just an Englishman, but a Pirate and his appearance on the ship did not bode well for Captain Harley of the Dutch East India Company. There were larger beings at stake in what was coming and the Captains tiny fleet of three vessels would be nothing in its onslaught but a stepping stone for the great powers of the ocean to climb upon.

All of this, so that Jack could get what he wanted the most. A ship to call his own. It was a silly thought, that going through a good man like Harley would help him achieve that end, but Jack was a man of many silly thoughts.

A waft of spicy tobacco smoke hit Jack's nostrils and the Captain gave his long pipe a breath and patted him on the back. "Nice night for a smoke."

"No thanks. I don't smoke. Would not want to subvert my mind." Jack said, swigging on Scotch.

"I was lost at sea once, long ago."

Jack leaned against the railing and propped a leg up. "How's that?"

"I was once a commander. Had five ships under my command with His Majesty's Navy. We were out in the Mid-Atlantic when a hurricane hit. Bad storm it was, and I watched all five ships succumb to her waves and winds, men that were quite hardened turned to inconsolable babes at the turn in weather. All were unable to get their wits about them, even for a moment, to save their lives. My mast broke, but I saved our boat. We drifted for ten weeks before the Armada caught up with us."

"Can't say they were too pleased."

"No. I was immediately decommissioned, and I lost everything. Including the hand of the woman I was to marry. My beloved Tessa."

"Aye. If we were not sailors, none of us would know suffering."

"I believe that is true, Mr. Sparrow. But what can we do but be sailors. I would not fit in anywhere on the dry land. What skills would I have there? All I could do was take an appointment with the Dutch East India Company, and thus my fate has led me here."

"And in poor company the squall shall find you." Jack muttered, or sang, but Harley could not tell the difference. "And what are you hauling?"

"Spices. Out of India." The Captain said shortly, though there was a tinge of guilt in the break of his voice.

"Good trade, spices. Bet you turn a tidy profit on them." Jack turned away. "I'll be finding my own place to shut my eyes, thank you for the Scotch, it ain't rum, but it'll make it all the better."

Captain Harley doused the lamp in his cabin before closing his eyes. He found himself asleep shortly, he could always sleep in the sway of the ship. There was no way to know that come the next morning, his life would take another tragic turn. He could not have known that Sao Feng had his sights on the ship, and the cargo it held.

Jack did not sleep so well. He was already busy, readying the boat for what would surely be complicated day.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sao Feng looked over the bow of the Empress, at the calm waters off the African Coast. Their placing was impeccable, hidden behind the steep walls miles north of the busy Port Elizabeth, with lookouts posted on the high cliffs, all shining mirrors back and forth to communicate the Opium cargo's position. The English were swarming further down the way, and Sao Feng could not risk an open sea battle with his majesty's navy. His only chance to overtake them was by following the plan, one that relied on the most unreliable sailor on the seven seas, Jack Sparrow.

A glint of light bounced back to his ship and Huang yelped out for his Captain, calling him over. "What is it?"

"They're approaching from the Northeast. The ships are dragging a bit, funnily."

"Funnily." Sao Feng said, under his breath. He leapt onto a rope and pulled himself high into the crow's nest, which barely peeked over the wall. The ships were steadily becoming visible out through the delicate morning fog. Masts were draped fumblingly about, half tied, with anchors swinging from the side. Sao Feng believed what he was seeing was the complete dismantling of ships and soon they would all have to make port. They were bobbing up and down, with men lurched over the edges, all vomiting and feverish. A stunned Captain strode the deck of the largest craft, looking from one man to another in disbelief, playing nursemaid to a crew that was completely defunct.

Sao Feng smiled and swung down on the rope, "Make ready the boarding parties!"

Jack Sparrow worked all night, and contaminating all three ships food stocks was not as easily as it looked. The boats were close enough together that he could move unseen, or barter passage with the Captain's almost endless supply of Scotch, sharing a few drinks with a night watchman while making his way into the holds, subtly poisoning each fruit, bread and water ration he came across. By ten in the morning, they were all incapacitated, vomiting left and right, too fast for even the swab to make a pass through the deck. It was all truly horrible and Jack found himself in the company of one of the only men that was not affected, Captain Harley.

Harley rigged tow lines to the back up ships and all three were being steered by Harley's sure hand.

"This is the most troublesome day of my life, Mr. Sparrow. I cannot crew these ships with this sort of widespread famine. We must make berth."

"I fear it is my fault, Captain."

"Yours?"

"Yes, I believe that I am a cursed man. How else do you explain two ships in such misfortune, in this small a span of time?"

"I, for one, do not believe in curses, Mr. Sparrow. I blame the company. They have outdone themselves in cheap bargaining and my men are made to suffer. Lucky for me, I prepare my own food, I could not live for long on the slop they expect these poor souls to subsist upon."

"And I thank you for letting me take part in your private rations, that I am not now bending over the edge of the rail, tossing my stomach as it were." The Captain nodded, and looked away despondent.

"It is my pleasure; we English must stick together, Jack." The Captain's eyes narrowed. "Do you think you could help me turn this ship?"

"I believe I can be of some assistance."

"Just ahead there is a lagoon. We should make for it, and find some fresh water and food for these men. That we might save them some terrible fate, will you help me?"

"Of course." Jack said, giving a wicked smile.

The Captain raised flags to the other ships and the men that were not completely wrecked were able to wave the flags back to him, and they all made their turns into the lagoon. Jack felt a surge of excitement, that the plan was coming together, that Sao Feng would get what he wanted, and Jack would be one step closer to achieving that which he wanted most, Captaining a treacherous crew all his own.

The high, green cliffs passed them on both sides and the Captain was yet to understand the full danger of the moment, he was about to get a lesson in pirating. The first and most important lesson being, never trust a man you dredge from the water, he almost always has an ulterior motive. Jack was a creature of many ulterior motives, since they came to him almost every minute of the day.

Harley was a heroic sort of man, tall and swarthy; he appeared very much like a man that could handle himself in a fight. Jack understood the kind of man Harley was, a bit lost on the way, but still good natured and an expert seafarer. Harley would surely die in the next few minutes, if he was to be boarded, he would hold off as many as he could before succumbing to a sword or a bullet.

Jack lashed the wheel steady and walked to the Captain. "What's that?"

Harley looked at Jack and his outstretched finger and followed the point to a spot at the top of the cliff, where a shining light beamed out, a mirror reflecting in the sun. Harley's eyes widened and he reached for his sword as if about to call out the alarm. Jack, who's pistol was already tight in his grip, drove the hilt across the back of the Captain's head and with a resounding crack, Harley went limp to the ground. None of the sick men were in very good shape to attack Jack, even the tall Indian Jayant looked up with glassy eyes and held his curved blade weakly.

"Sorry, mate. Looks like I got the better of you." Jack tied Harley's hands behind him and turned the keel of the ship sharply, slicing deeper into the waiting arms of Sao Feng and his Empress. The sick men all were dumbfounded as Sao Feng's flagship ship came into full view.

"What did you do to us?" The Indian called out.

"Just a little trick I learned in Singapore. Can't very well disable a whole crew by my sword, can I?" Jack piloted the boat and towed all three into the rabble of hollering Chinamen, all ready to board and take what they could. Jack pulled up along side Sao Feng and the diminutive Pirate Lord swung a line from the Empress to the Merrimack and boarded the ship.

"Good work, Mr. Sparrow." Sao Feng gleamed, taking a hold of the wheel. The rest of the men boarded and herded the Merrimack's crew together at the center of the deck. "We should have this ship good and looted and at the bottom of the lagoon in less than an hour."

"And the men, sir?" Jack said, patting Captain Harley's head.

"Turn them loose on the land. It's only a five days walk to Port Elizabeth. If the jungle creatures or natives don't get them, they should survive that journey." Sao Feng said, showing a sign of mercy Jack guessed was rarely afforded.

Jack went to work, grouping the men on the long boats and sending them towards the shore. He kept Captain Harley behind; the man awoke several hours later on the Empress, sitting in Sao Feng's cabin, nursing his head wound. Jack sat opposite from him cross-legged, reading a map upside down.

"What have you done, Jack?" Captain Harley groaned out.

"I've saved your honorable life, mate." Jack scribbled something on the map with a bit of chalk. "You're very welcome."

"My boat. You planned it all."

"I did. You see, I am a scallywag."

"That you are." Captain Harley righted himself and stood. "What ship is this?"

"Pride of China, a grand vessel known worldwide as The Empress. You are now the guest of Captain Sao Feng."

"Guest? I am a dead man, Jack. Once the company finds out what happened, they are going to send an agent after me, and before you know it, I will be toiling in Davy Jones Locker." Captain Harley rubbed his eyes.

"A terrible place to be, I'm sure." Jack said, looking foggy.

"What now?"

"You're more than welcome to join our little enterprise."

"Jack, I cannot become a pirate. I have already disgraced my family name by taking a position with the Company. You should have killed me."

"Now, now. You can still find thousands of ways to get yourself killed, or you can supply us with enough information to steal as much from your company as we are able. Thus, entirely destroying the buggers that would have you buggered, so to speak." Jack passed a bottle of his precious rum to Captain Harley. "It's a pirates life for me, bloke."

Harley took the bottle and thought hard for a moment. He did not have a home, no commission, no ship, and a death sentence that would surely come down on his head had he returned to England or India without the Opium spices in tow. There was no where for him, no place in the world, but the strange feeling that an air of destiny seemed to follow the Pirate named Jack Sparrow, who smiled through golden teeth and darkly tanned skin. Perhaps he had the time left in him to reclaim his family name and his Royal Navy Commision, by working from the inside and taking down the infamous Sao Feng. It would be his only chance to change the course of his life and this time, for the better.

Captain Harley swigged the bottle hard and spat out, "Yo ho."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sara was furious with her brother, first for sneaking off to the old man's shack the day before and now sleeping in his bed well after first light. Even if it was a working plantation, with plenty of people hired on to work the land, they still had plenty of chores of their own to tend with and he was acting like a lay-about. She stomped all the way to his room and stood behind the door, fuming in her work dress. Balling up her fists, she slammed them against the wood, making such a loud ruckus that several of the servants rushed to her aid. The door opened and her brother was wiping sleep from his eyes.

"You rang, my lady?"

"None of that charm will work on me today, Simon." Sara seethed. "You had better have an excuse for missing breakfast this morning. Father believes you are cross with him."

"Come on in, sister. I will show you why I am still asleep." Sara followed him in and she found an open canvas bag, spilled out over the floor.

"I thought you were giving my leg a pull. You really went back there and stole from that old man?"

"I had to."

"You had to? And what did you take? What did you risk your soul for? Trinkets? Baubles? Things you could have found in our own dustbin."

"I guess I should tell you the story." Simon sat back, and waited for his sister to take a place on the straight back chair at the bureau. She folded her hands and narrowed her gaze into his eyes. "You will try to not interrupt me, won't you?"

"I will seal my tongue behind impenetrable lips."

"We were only a supply ship, Sara. Not once did I see a cannon fire in battle or hear the clash of swords, but many sailors crossed our decks. We visited many ports of call, where I saw the most unbelievable array of mankind displayed. If you knew where to look, you could see the very darkness of humanity and even see the unexplainable. There is, for example, a very real mystical force at work in this world. I have seen indescribable things in these back alleys, in the denizens of sin and inequity. Some of it is Evil, some of it is the weird, yet all of it beyond human explanation and all of it very startlingly real, dear sister. I don't mean to scare you. I learned the story first from a man in the Mediterranean. I heard it confirmed on the far shores of Africa. There are tools bestowed to man by the God of the Sea, many thousands of years ago, when we first took to the water to brave the depths. They were tokens Sarah, simple tools, but blessed with so much power that the man who wielded them had full control of the Oceans of the world. Whole navies could journey under the power of a God, imagine it. Empires were built upon the owner's prowess. And they still exist today. No one knows for certain what they look like, because the tale says the Mariner tools will change form every hundred years. As you can imagine, Sara, this makes the ownership of the object quite accidental, since any owner is apt to lose it once the tool changes shape." Sara looked at her brother with a mix of disbelief and sadness.

"Simon, what do you think? That you have found one of these objects in the trinkets you have here? I believe the hard labor at sea has done something to your mind. You would never have done anything like this while mother was alive."

Simon pounded his fist on the ground. "No, Sara. I would not have done that. I would have not gone to sea and learned that I love it far more than anything in this life. I would not have seen a thousand and one sunrises and sunsets in the strangest parts of the world, or watched meteors stream in the sky like a thousand firebugs dancing in the night. And I would not have a destiny, as sure as I am standing here, I have found what I was looking for and it is right here."

Simon lifted a compass, black in color, with dull gold trimming. He lifted the lid and the Northern point was addressing a course that was certainly not on target.

"It's broken."

"That is what I thought at first. And I held it all night. Hoping that through some magic way, I would glean come information in my sleep. But when I awoke in the night, I had to, well, evacuate. I happened to glance at the Compass in my hand and it was pointing towards the Privy. When I had finished, the needle regained its other course."

"And what course now? A pile of manure perhaps?"

"I believe that this compass is very special Sara. It does not point north, true, but it does give each holder a heading. Take it and see."

Simon placed the black compass in his sister's dainty hand. She looked down at it and back up at her twin brother. "It is pointing at you."

Simon slowly walked around her, and she marveled at how the needle continued to point in his direction. "I believe that this compass points to what you want, or where you want to be. And in this scenario, it appears you want to be with me, wherever I am."

"Then it is certainly busted if that is the outcome of its magic," she replied snidely.

"You cannot deny that this is a special thing. The old man has been sitting on this, protecting this all these years, when he could have found any lost treasure there ever was. Imagine the possibilities for England! All the forgotten glories of the ancient world could be ours. Any wonder and mystery can be uncovered and given light. And I would be the one to bring about a change in this world, for the better."

"And why would they not just take this from you?"

"I will not let them know I have it. To them, all my good fortune will be happy accidents, and coincidences. Unless I let it slip what I have in possession, there will be know way anyone would know."

"You've gone mad. You know well what happens when greed takes hold of people. Every nursery rhyme is filled with characters that wanted too much too fast. You are a young man, all that should come later. Why are you in such a rush to prove yourself?"

Simon scrunched his face and turned to the window. "Sailing is my only gift, Sara. You have been given incredible gifts. You are passionate and kind. You have artistic abilities and an incredible sense of wonderment that I will never possess. All I can do is climb the ladder militarily and I cannot be blamed for wanting to do so in an expeditious process. I do not want to be the fetch boy any longer. Harwell, fetch a mop! Harwell, fetch that line! Harwell, you brigand!"

"Must be awful doing your job, Simon."

"Be as snarky as you like, sister, but the men in our family are expected to rise and rise quickly. If I want to be a Captain by age fifteen, why shouldn't I? Alexander was conquering lands by then."

Sara smirked. "And that is who you fancy yourself? A makeshift Alexander? I have heard you boast a great many things, but never like this."

"I need you to understand. Father will not be able to grasp my ambition, but it is very important that you give me your blessing. The life I am about to take on is filled with many dangers. If you do not want me to do this, tell me now and I will stay on my normal course. I will sail around and spend my life away from you or I can take my life into my own hands, chart a new course for my life. A course that I alone will chart. I will be the key to everything. And when I want leave, I can take it. If I wanted to relocate the family back to England, I would have a castle built for you all."

"But I like it here."

"But we are English. We belong there. You should see it, Sara. No more beautiful place on Earth is there than our own home. When I arrived there the first time since we left for the Americas, it was very much like coming home. I want you and father to live there again. You can be a proper lady and marry gentlemen, not the riff raff we have out here."

"Why is it all men are in a rush to push women into marriage? Simon, you're foolish to think this will change your life. But, if it will bring you back into my life again, I can accept that this is something you want to try."

Simon hugged his sister and they shared a moment of double understanding. All of it was suddenly interrupted by the strange and often jarring sound of a long nine firing somewhere near the house.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As the cannon fired for the second time, Doctor Harwell was already on the way back to the house, having met with the esteemed Mr. Butler, a cousin to the throne in England. Harold Butler owned the largest plantation in the Caribbean, which was on the Southern tip of the island. He was something of a strange man, aloof and yet accessible in a conversation. Doctor Harwell did not have friendships he valued, but his meetings with Butler were very nice. The men could talk for hours on the nature of politics and its growing importance in society, and Butler was also something of an avid card sharp and relished in taking money from those less informed in the ways of gambling.

Doctor Harwell was one such man. Though the odds were incalculably stacked in Butler's favor, he could not deny the beast inside him that wanted to destroy Butler, if only once in a game of Gin.

The two men were traveling back to Harwell's modest plantation, when the cannon thundered in the distance, prompting Harwell to call out to the coach driver to move faster, pushing the horses to the limit as they rounded the beach. Butler showed concern for Harwell, though he had yet to afford any affection for his children. Butler moved around with a contingent of soldiers to act as bodyguards, he was perhaps more well protected than the governor.

Doctor Harwell could scarcely believe his eyes to see the old Portuguese sailor Leon standing on the beach beside a long nine cannon, blasting joyously at his house. A soldier pulled off his musket and advanced, but Harwell took the young man by the shoulder.

"Harwell." Butler coughed. "Let the man do his job."

"I know this man. He is old and confused."

"I have a shot," The soldier said towards Butler.

The businessman looked back at Harwell, "It is your decision, my friend. You are more than welcome to attempt talking the wild man off his rampage."

Harwell nodded in response and took a few ginger steps toward the Portuguese, holding his hands harmlessly in the air.

"Mr. Leon. I believe you have fired cannonballs into my property."

"Aye." The old man said with his heavy accent. "So I have. And I aim to do it again until that urchin of yours comes out with my belongings."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"The devil. That's what made him do it, eh? That's what made that boy sneak into my shanty in the dead of night and take the property that was not his to touch. That which was explicitly forbidden towards him. But what did the spoilt little rich boy do when he was told 'no' and possible it was the first time, mind you. He went ahead and did that which should not be done." The old man lit the end of the fuse and hovered with it over the cannon.

"You attempt to make that shot, Leon, and the young man with the musket will take you down. Do you believe that?"

"Aye. But he'll probably miss. No man ever got the drop on this old sailor, and from that distance? He'd more hit you than he would hit me." Leon laughed heartily.

"I have known you for a number of years and though you have your eccentricities you have never struck me as a man that was beyond reasonable logic. And you have never been someone to have struck out in anger at anyone. If you say that my son has taken something from you, then we must give him a chance to clear his name. Do you not agree?"

The old man twisted his face in a moment of hard battled concentration, before smiling near toothlessly. "I'd like to have him on the beach anyway, I do not think I am getting anywhere blowing holes in your wheat fields."

Harwell turned his face slightly away, never taking his eyes from the man and his cannon. "Simon. This is your father. You are needed here and now on the beach if you please!"

Several moments passed before Simon appeared through the gate, a pistol tucked in his belt.

"Hold it right there ya brigand. You comin' armed is a sure sign of your guilt." Leon sneered.

"You've been firing at the house my sister is in. You are lucky I do not pull this from my waist and shoot you where you stand."

Leon laughed. "A brave boy to make such a statement while the end of a long nine is aimed at his waist."

"We are not getting anywhere with this pedantic silliness. Simon, I want you to take the pistol from your waist and drop it on the ground."

Simon looked at his father as if he had asked him to disrobe. But, he did what his father had suggested, dropping the loaded pistol to the ground. He was in trouble, he could feel the punishments coming, he would be found as the liar and the thief he was. Simon would surely be locked in stocks, or jailed. If they considered it piracy, he would surely be hanged from the nearest tree. Simon felt shades of worry cross over his face.

"Now, Simon. Now that we are all present and, I am sure, all paying attention. We will answer the accusations leveled against you. What is it that my boy stole?"

"An object of insurmountable value to me. A precious relic that should not have been touched and not by him that shows such lack of respect towards his superiors and his blood." Leon spat out, frothing.

"And what object exactly?"

Leon looked perplexed. "That I cannot answer."

Simon saw the old man's face. How could he not answer? All he had to do was say that he had stolen a compass, his father would have searched and surely come upon it.

"You cannot answer. Leon, I am trying to help you. But, you must be able to give some sort of description of what it is my son took from you."

"It would be small. No larger than a fist."

"Harwell, is everything all right here?" Butler joined the three of them.

"Well, I am doing my best to determine what it is that Mr. Leon believes my son stole from him. The leading descriptor is that the object in question is small."

"No larger than a fist." Leon repeated.

"Thank you." Doctor Harwell said, looking worriedly at Butler.

"Mr. Leon." Butler continued. "Have I not been a good landlord to you in these troublesome years?"

"Aye, you've let me live fine on my own."

"That is settled, then you must allow me the pleasure of knowing more about this supposed object Mister Harwell's son has purloined." Butler spoke in the way of the upper-crust English, never quite looking at Leon as he addressed him.

"I am afraid that I cannot answer much more than that." Leon scratched his head with the fuse rod.

"Simon. Is there anything you would like to say in your defense?"

Simon came up with an idea, "If Mister Leon is so sure that I took something from his possession, than surely he would be able to find it among the things in my room. Would that not be accurate? I can assure you that I have been in there all night and all morning. Father, you can attest to the lack of my presence at breakfast. I was in my bedroom at the time."

"Yes, of course." Doctor Harwell took a step towards Leon. "Why do we not just go and have a look in his room?"

"I am afraid I would not be able to recognize what it was he stole, good sir. Your son must tell me which one it is."

"Surely you know your own property, how else would you know its missing?" Butler clapped in amusement.

"It has changed shape since I first came upon it." Leon stated in a serious matter of fact way.

"Changed?" Doctor Harwell spoke incredulously.

"When I first saw it, it was nothing but an ancient protractor. Golden and carved with delicate runes. A beautiful thing. But, I do believe a hundred years has come upon us, and now all I am certain is that last night it was in my possession, and now it is not. The only thing in recent memory to have changed was this boy coming back from sea, arrogant and rude, and wanted it all for himself. He said as much in presence just last afternoon." Leon was wild, brushing the fuse lighter near the rear of the cannon. The soldier tensed up with each pass, certain he would be making a fatal shot before the end of the standoff.

"This man is a barking loon." Butler said softly into Harwell's ear.

"I cannot prove it. No one would believe it. I must do something drastic to get it back. You do not understand, it is dangerous, dangerous to have all that you desire, to always attain that which you seek. Dangerous." Leon swung the cannon about and aimed it directly at Doctor Harwell and Lord Butler. "I must make him tell me where it is!"

The old sailor brought his arm down to fire the cannon. Simon moved as fast as he could and dove for the pistol at his feet, lifting his arm just in time to fire at the long ignition rod, blasting the metal apart.

In the same instant, the soldier fired, a much more decisive shot that struck the old man in the shoulder, knocking him to the sandy ground. Moments later, the soldier was reloading for another round of firing.

"That's enough!" Doctor Harwell called. "Crazy old fool. Have him arrested and thrown in prison. I will not have him hanged, not for having a rotten mind. His years of solitude has devastated his reasoning." The doctor looked to his son. "Simon."

Simon put his arms around his father's waist. Doctor Harwell put his hand on his son's head, and Simon watched as the soldiers placed shackles around the old man's wrists and led him away down the beach. Too injured to speak, all Leon could do in the desperate situation was give the boy a lingering look of disappointment.

"That concludes a rather interesting morning, I do say." Butler chuckled, pleased to have witnessed such drama.

"Are you all right?" The doctor said to his son.

"Yes. Just scared." He buried his face, half to hide from the guilt and half to guiltily smile for his getting away with the theft.

Half the battle had been won. It was time to put his plan into action.

All he had to do was keep his sister quiet about the whole affair and the world was at Simon's fingertips.


	8. Chapter 8

Captain Harley spent the week acting as one of the crew, learning the ship from stem to stern. The Empress was a large and impressive ship, with dozens of guns and a history that went back much longer than Harley's military career. The relics aboard were ancient, from a time long before the European civilization, from a great Chinese Empire that had survived much more than the dystopian nightmare of the English middle ages. Sao Feng was something else entirely, quite different from the English sailors. A gentlemen of a sort, but not as refined as his brothers in the West, and yet better educated than half the blokes Harley had ever met. Feng knew more about mathematics and the natural laws of science than most of the professors at Oxford. Beyond that, he was a man of many traditional beliefs, worshipping many different gods. He was perpetually adding the occult into his daily habits, and kept himself steamed constantly, to rid him of the toxins that he believed were destroying his soul.

Feng was poetic, and loved listening to the rythms of poetry. Harley could keep at his attention during dinner, reciting Dunne and Shakespeare. Feng had thousands of men at his disposal, a fleet that if mobilized could pose a real threat to his own Emperor or even the English navy, were they that concerned with the seas so far to the East.

"Tell me, Mister Harley. This man- what did you call him?"

"Prospero."

"Yes, Prospero. The sorcerer."

"Why did he free the creature in the tree?" Sao Feng slurped up his noodle.

"Ariel? Maybe he felt she needed rescuing."

"Bollocks." Jack said, drunk and in the corner of the Captain's hold. "Bollocks says I. I have seen this very play once before. And although I cannot say I particularly cared for it, I did manage to follow the story. The sorcerer frees the charming little nymph from the tree precisely because he knew she would owe him."

"Jack, you don't believe that Prospero freed Ariel out of any human kindness?" Harley said, sipping wine.

"No, mate. That fellow was lampooned on an island for over a decade. Even if he was a magical man, he had needs. A spunky, proportionately advanced daughter to feed, and if by freeing the little sprite, he could get a little of what he needed, is that not just a man's human kindness to himself?"

"And there lies the difference between you and I, Jack." Harley stood uneasily. "Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own, Which is most faint: now, 'tis true, I must be here confined by you…"

Feng clapped. "Very good."

"My Captain." Harley walked to the steps and moved to the deck of the Empress. Huang watched him uneasily from his post behind the wheel. Harley gestured to the small pirate, and Huang flashed a crimson smile back at him. He, like many of the men were suffering from mild scurvy, there was a lack of vitamin C on the ship. Harley spent almost every waking moment formulating some sort of plan to contend with the pirate.

"Thinking hard on it?" Sparrow appeared, "Coming up with something to get off this little boat?"

"Of course." Harley smiled. "And what about you? Surely you do not wish to spend your life under the command of Sao Feng."

"He's a good enough chief for now. Keeps me in the pink. But, what he has offered me, I cannot deny."

"And what is that? Your own crew?"

"And a ship. A fast one. He has read it in the stars that I am the one to rule the Caribbean, to tour in a ship that is supernaturally fast. Can't you hear the banners wave?"

"I say we take the Opium. We take it to sell to our ports out West. We control the stock and you can get the ship you've always wanted?"

"A pirate for a week and already talking mutiny."

"No. Not mutiny. We should do the honorable thing and make Feng believe this is the only thing he can do, also while making him believe the idea was his all along. Not an easy thing, I am sure, but a fate that you and I can make our own."

"Such pretty words." Jack rested his boot on the wheel. "Will you be able to stand behind them when it is all said and done and our backs are both against the wall. I am sure there is more behind this expedition than even Feng lets on. He has a fear, you can trust that. His fear is the Emperor."

For the following few days, Jack and Harley found themselves dropping hints into casual conversations with Feng.

"Be a shame giving all this to the Emperor. I mean, what does he need with Indian made Opium, anyway?" Jack Sparrow muttered softly. "I know a bloke out in Tortuga that could give you a right killing for this much Spice. And, if we managed to overtake that other Shipment along the way, we would be in heaven."

Sao Feng would casually dismiss such conversations as they came, but Harley appealed to his sense of independence. "When will men like you stop paying homage to false gods like an Emperor. You are your own man, Sao Feng. The real reason he has not tried to destroy you and your armada is simply because he is afraid of you."

Nearly another week passed before the dinner that Feng gathered them all together. Feng began slowly, letting the English come out in an excited tone. "I have been doing some pondering. I believe that to simply give this generous supply of Opium to my Emperor is underutilizing the market potential. The true value can be measured in the waters of the Atlantic, where there is much more of a demand."

Harley thought how marvelous it was that Feng had been studying the philosophy of Capitalism. He continued, "I think we should turn the Empress about, make our way around the African coast and dump everything in Tortuga. Mr. Sparrow has also assured that in a few days, the third of the Spring Opium shipment will be arriving in the waters shortly. They will also have the supplies we need to make that venture."

"Jack, I told you about those ships in confidence." Harley stammered.

"And I took that confidence and confidentially confided in our precious Captain. Like I said mate, you and I are going to do whatever we can to destroy tour old company. If that means scuttling three more ships, then we should have another excuse for a party."

"Captain Feng. I understand your need to make as much profit as possible, but I cannot take part in the murdering of men I know."

"Murder? Mister Harley, it is hardly murder to kill murderers. What do think Opium is?" Feng said simply, "Opium is a natural and horrible concoction, a drug so powerful that the most uncommon man will become common. A horrible toxin that eats at the very soul. Lives are lost over this particular substance, and if you are an honorable man, you would say the people who control and distribute the drug are in the same class of murderer you would say I am. You do not murder murderers."

Harley kept his mouth quiet and sat back in the chair, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship on the ocean currents. He was wrapped up in the future voyage of the Empress, of the Pirate Lord and his crew and lost in the meanderings of Jack Sparrow. Before the week was over, he knew that he would have sold his soul to the Pirate gods and he would be lost forever.

"Good." Jack smiled abruptly. "Now that we have all of that nonsense sorted out. "Why don't we all go ahead and make a full proof plan to retrieve the rest of the terrible drugs from the more terrible Dutch East India Company."


	9. Chapter 9

-1Chapter Nine

Sara was bewildered by the whole ordeal. For days she pressed her brother about his treatment of Leon. She knew well that he once had been very friendly with the old man. Sara joined him a very few times out on the beach, watching him spar and listen to the stories Leon would tell. The old man never quite rubbed Sara the right way, but Simon was always rapt for his attention, and studied hard the things he had to teach him.

There was a time, in the last few years during Simon's leave time that he would spend more time with Leon at his shack than he did at his own home or with his father. The doctor would barely notice that his son was not there with him, so long as he made his appearance at the dinner table or the breakfast table. Doctor Harwell was far too busy, taking care of the plantation and the villagers under his protection. The man spent every morning touring the villages, helping those who were still steeped in magical traditions.

Sara knew that somewhere inside he was feeling guilt over what he had done to his one time mentor. On that particular day, Sara found herself berating him. "Go to father right now and explain to him what you did."

"And what would the point of that be?" Simon looked at her with his placid cocksure smile.

"To free an innocent man from the stocks."

"Sara. You know as well as I do that he made the decision to come to this house and fire a cannon. If he is to have a spell in the stocks as a result, that is on his head and not on mine." Simon crossed his arms and continued to look out across the water. Far in the distance there was a high dark blue of swirling in the clouds, and the winds over the last few days were becoming unfavorable.

"Who have you become, Simon? When did you become a person that could let someone else suffer for his crimes?"

"Crimes? You talk to me about crimes and you do not even know who this man is that you are defending. Why would someone with a power like this hide out on an island in the middle of the Atlantic? How could someone hide this from the world."

"He had his own reasons and who are you to judge him?" Sara's face was becoming red with agitation. "Spending a few years on a boat and suddenly you are the moral authority of the Caribbean."

"Sara." Simon felt the wind flow out of his sails. "I can't talk to you about all of this now. Maybe in the future, when we have had some space from the event-"

Doctor Harwell interrupted them as he walked into the room. "Simon, Sara. We have word from the fleet. A Hurricane is brewing out in those waters now and it should arrive at our shores by midnight."

"A Hurricane?" Sara's eyes became as big as saucers.

"Not a terribly uncommon thing, I know. But this could be as bad as any that has hit before. And I need the both of you to prepare and to help me. We haven't much time." Sara stood straight and Simon followed her. "Sara, get the servants and begin moving what you can into the storm cellar. First, what we need and then only the essential pieces of art or antiques that you think will be needed. After all, it is your legacy we are saving. And Simon, you and I are going to go down into the village. The people down there have the right to a fair chance of surviving this storm. That requires going door to door. Are you with me?"

Simon nodded and watched as Sara left the room. "I will be with you in a moment."

"Fine. I'm readying the horses." Doctor Harwell disappeared and Simon attacked his hideaway cabinet, the same place he had stored all of his most precious childhood materials. There was a ball of twine, a piece of silver and a wooden doll still collecting dust. His new addition was wrapped in a strip of satin. The compass fit well around his neck and he hid it behind his coat, buttoning as he ran down the stairs to join his father on the road into the village.

Wind was slashing more and more as the two progressed from thatched hut to thatched hut. The villagers great them with a mix of muted respect and disdain as Doctor Harwell explained to each of them the dangers of the oncoming storm. It had been over a generation since a storm like the one on the way had hit that island and the young people did not have a full grasp over how bad it could get. If the family were lucky enough to have a person that was slightly older, perhaps children at the time of the last big hurricane, the family would decide it was a big enough reason to move inland.

"Why do they not believe you?" Simon asked as they moved to the farthest house in the village, the home of the old Shaman and his family.

"The memories of this island do not go back as far as they should. When I say storm, they can only imagine what they have already seen. To be told by a man, a white man, an English man, that everything they have built, that they have today, will be gone by tomorrow. We can only believe what we have already seen. That, combined with fear and stubbornness is the absolute harbinger of blind ignorance. I fear that no matter what we do, many lives will be lost tonight."

"Then why do any of this?"

"Because for us, those that have the knowledge, to do nothing would be a greater sin than I am willing to bear."

Simon sat silently with his father until they approached the final thatch house. The largest family on the island gathered about the place, the home of the Shaman, Seaga. A practitioner of Voodoo, the witchcraft, Seaga was the man in the village that all turned to when they were ill, or frightened or needed direction. Simon never understood why they would go to a man that had no formal education, not when his father was there for them, and always seemed most cheery when he could do something to help them out.

"I am afraid of this man." Simon whispered to his father.

"Don't be. Seaga is a reasonable man."

"He does witchcraft."

"That may be." Harwell had a smile on his face. "But when I arrive with my medical instruments and my books of knowledge, to them, that is just the same. Witchcraft."

"Surely even they can tell the difference."

"You do not have to come inside, but I must have a word with Seaga. If anyone can get the others in the village to do the sensible thing. It is him." Harwell leapt from the carriage and walked to a little shirtless boy leaning his body into the wind. "Boy. Is your grandfather here?"

The boy looked at him blankly for a moment before dashing into the hut. Harwell followed and Simon jumped down, passing the boy as he sat inside, kicking a ball leather ball between his ankles. Simon recognized the ball, since it had once been his. He felt a tinge of anger that his father should just give his things away until he looked up and around him. There were no less than ten people sitting inside the cramped little space, and it struck him that there was absolutely nothing on the walls and nothing on the ground but the very sand one would find outside.

Doctor Harwell was sitting with a terribly wrinkled old man in the corner. He was surrounded by the trappings of the voodoo shaman, from skulls of animals to runes carved in blocks of Beachwood. Harwell was speaking in hushed tones to the old man. But Seaga's eyes were not looking at the Doctor, but rather he was staring with trained focus at Simon's neck. Not his neck, he could feel the cold stare on the little piece he had tucked away behind the folds of leather and cloth. He could somehow sense or see that Simon was carrying the compass.

Simon's neck was tingling, his hairs standing on end. His ears were growing hot and burning, sweat dribbled down his face and Simon excused himself, stumbling outside, nearly doubling over before he came to the carriage. Simon watched the boy, kicking his ball about from the corner of his eye and scrunched his lids closed. He tightened his fist, whatever the old man's gaze did to him, he would have to fight the feeling away. Simon concentrated on the wind, whistling high, and waves, lapping against the surf. He waited, channeling all of his thoughts to the gentle sounds of the beach, until all the disorientation vanished, and pulled himself into the carriage, laying his head back on the cushion.

"Are you all right?"

His father peeked his head into the carriage. "I will be all right. Just a touch of nausea." Simon feared telling his father what condition came over him would lead to too many questions.

"We are done here, besides. I believe he listened to me. Old man came down with a case of shingles not a year ago and despite his prowess in the dark arts, it was good English medicine that cured all his ails. He may not think much of us, but I have, for the moment, won his respect. These people may yet be saved." The thunder clapped heartily and a steady torrent of rain showered about them.

"Come, we must join your sister."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

A steady wind was blowing that evening, waves kicking up near the lip of the fishing boat. The captain, a staunch swarthy man of French descent hooked his arm around a line and braced himself against the wheel. For days the seas had been telling him its secrets, as a lifelong fisherman he had the instinct to know when a storm was brewing and to realize when it was time to pull away. That was near two days ago, but the men had yet to receive capacity and they pleaded with their Captain to stay out just a bit longer. At Port Royal, a good hull was enough to get them through a dry summer. Hugo relented, going against every sailor bone in his body, and now they faced an impenetrable wall of gray swirling clouds.

"Blast ye." He called to the clouds and squinted his eyes. All around them the storm was closing, a hurricane by the look of it, and if they were not able to make good speed away from it, they would be lost forever.

"Captain" One of his fishers cried up to him. "We have no chance of outrunning it."

He was never the kind of sailor his father was. The old man would never have found himself caught in such a predicament. The great captain would have said to his men they did not know what he knew, and make sure he saved them all. They were now turned away from the great storm, but the wind was not catching, they were not gaining speed and the monster was about to cover them, and then there would be no escape.

"Captain. What do we do?"

The man screamed over the thrashing wind. The truth was, Hugo did not know. He was out of ideas. The only thing he could think of, "Dump the cargo!"

His men stopped the screaming for a moment, all looking blankly at their Captain, who appeared to become a lunatic.

"What are you standing around for? Do this for your own good, for your lives!" His first mate was the one to jump to action, running down the hatch and throwing it open, tying a line to the pully to bring the whole net up. He pulled and pulled and the others joined him soon, tugging with all their might. The mast the line was tied to, heaved a bit and the wood splintered at the base. "Good!"

The net was slowly raising and the men pushed, all eight of them, swinging the arm out. There was so much fish that as the net went to port, the whole of the fishing boat dipped in that direction. The first mate took a dagger and sliced at the rope, freeing all the fish they caught that morning in the swell of the storm. Suddenly as the ship righted itself the boat gained some speed. Rain hit the fishing boat instantly making everything slick and hard to walk on. Hugo braced himself that the rain would soon bring the gale winds, enough to knock the boat upside down. He had seen it and justly feared it.

"It ain't fast enough. That storm will be on our backsides in half a shake!" The first mate called.

"Then we'll have to get tricky on her!" Hugo called over the raging wind.

He turned the wheel hard, cutting back towards the storm. "What the devil are you doing?"

"We aren't catching the wind. Maybe by going into the beast, and turning, we can catch a hurricane wind."

"If you are wrong, then we will all die!" The first mate said, his eyes darting from the Captain to the storm.

"If I do not do this, we will all be dead anyway." The first mate nodded and grabbed onto the wheel with his captain.

"We go down together Captain Hugo."

The waves were increasing in size every moment as the storm enveloped them. "Men, tie yourselves down lest you be thrown overboard!"

The ship was being pulled into the storm, like ravenous fingers of a hungry animal; the currents swept the ship into its mouth. As hard as Hugo pulled on the wheel, the current would not budge, the ship could not change course. A particularly strong current, slammed into the boat and turned it outward, as if a whirlpool had caught onto the stern and was giving it a death shake. A powerful wave hit at starboard and the boat rocked so severely it could have just fallen over. The first mate, not properly tied slipped on the slick wood and his eyes widened as be gave way to gravity. Hugo reached out and took his fellow by the wrist, straining hard against the elements.

But the rain and the wind were too powerful to resist, and Hugo's longtime friend broke off the grasp, falling into the depths. Hugo cried out against the wind and put everything he had into turning the rudder. His arms extended, his body leaning, with his foot against the wood, dug in, he felt the sinews on his arms pop. Everything he had and more he gave to the fight for survival, with the wind and the rain and the oncoming doom of a storm he couldn't outrun coming on top of him.

And it turned. Slowly at first, the ship angled out to the left, and as it caught the current, it spun about. The wheel whipped back at Hugo and the jut of the wheel slammed him in the chin. Hugo nearly blacked out from the pain, and the spray of hot blood mixed with the rain.

"Trim the sail! We make the most of the wind!" He called and his men went to work adjusting the foremast and other sails. They were running, tipping over toward the port side of the boat, but going faster than the fishing vessel had ever managed. If they could only pull away at the right time, they could break free the storm with enough wind at their back to outrun the tempest.

Finally, they saw the light through the gray maelstrom, and in a few moments they would find themselves on the outside of the storm. Hugo, who had been holding his breath, sighed in relief and let the oxygen in. His lungs were grateful, and he wiped the blood from his chin and smiled. That was it, somehow they made it through the worst and he could make it all the way home. With might of his arms and the cunning of his mind, his little fishing boat persevered.

A water spout formed ahead of them, shooting high into the air. The men audibly gaped at the high spinning water tornado; many had not seen one before. Hugo was the first to react, clutching the wheel turning it, trying to stay on course and yet somehow bypass the spout. He was cursing under his breath as a second waterspout formed on their port side.

"Captain, what does this mean?" The youngest of his men called to him.

"It means the gods do not want us to survive this! They mean to take us down!" He spat. "And I'll be damned if I suffer the same fate as my father and his father's before him! I will not be drowned by the will of some lazy god!"

The men looked worried as they did not change course. Hugo knew there was nowhere to go. The physics of sea travel were such that there was not wind or current to catch that would escape the fate of two water spouts towering and a hurricane on their heels.

Hugo tied the wheel down and called to his men, "Strap yerselves in, boys! We're going on through!"

"You can't be serious!" One called back, but looking at the stern face of their Captain, they knew very well that he meant it.

The men all huddled to the center of the boat and knotted a length of rope around their shoulders and looped through the waist. The water spout was bearing down on them. Hugo gritted his teeth until he felt the copper taste of blood in his mouth and drove the needle of the stern into the belly of the water spout. The destruction began immediately, knocking their avatar from her place, tearing into the wood and rending its way even to the center mast, splitting off the giant pole, dropping the sails and shredding the canvas as if it were rice paper. Hugo felt the end coming, as he had heard it would, his life played out before his eyes in images and smells.

Never again would he enjoy a lager. Never again would he have a Christmas. A rod of water knocked him from the wheel and he slid back across the deck, effectively slamming his head into his cabin door. The sailor blacked out.

He was dead, surely. Not a soul would have survived such a vicious walloping. He could hear the calm drift of water, the drops sliding off his finger. He was laying on the cabin door. A large oaken panel served as the door, and across the top it was carved with his name. Hugo, it said, whittled with his own blade. There was bright sun shining atop of him as he blinked his eyes and rolled over. Everything seemed a bit bleached out. That was until a heavy shadow drifted over him. In the air above, and from the bottom, it appeared as the shape of a boat. If he knew his ships well enough, and he believed he did, it could have been a carrack, a ship from long ago.

What's more, this ship was flying through the air, descending to the calm water. Hugo was pinned to the spot, he looked down to his chest and stomach and he could see that he was somehow impaled. A shard of the mast was blown through him. He could not feel his legs nor sit up. Hugo was numb. He turned his face and watched the craft settle on the water. Its strange sails, the remnants of a bygone era were billowed full and engorged with wind. The men were but shadows upon its deck, all speaking in a language that sounded Spanish, but may have been Portuguese.

A man was looking at him. His uniform was strange, silver and nickel plated chest plate. On his head was a helm that curved at its edges. He had thick, dark hair and large eyes with a green haze to them. He looked down at Hugo with a mix of pity and respect. The man, the best description of him was conquistador. A blasted adventurer from a century and a half ago, Hugo must have been dead.

The man was training a musket on him. Hugo smiled and closed his eyes. If he was not dead, then at least the sea did not have him. He would die, but by his terms. A flash of a smile hit Hugo's lips as the musket fire tore into him. And everything went silent.


End file.
